


Hometown Boys

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [124]
Category: Criminal Minds, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Stargate: Continuum, Stealth Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8753530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any, "Christmas in My Hometown" (Travis Tritt)." In the Continuum timeline, Daniel Jackson still has no hometown and is not in the Christmas mood when a familiar face appears in the bookstore where he works. References to SGA 1x16 The Brotherhood





	1. Chapter 1

The song _Christmas In My Hometown_ came over the airwaves for about the thousandth time, and Daniel was ready to smash the radio. But it was that time of year, and the music made the customers cheery, and if Daniel wanted to continue to eat, he needed to have a job, and cheery customers meant continued employment for Daniel.

Truth was, if Daniel lost his job, he could probably limp along with the tiny allowance the Air Force sent every month (which he let people assume were disability payments, because he couldn’t tell them that the Air Force was keeping him alive in case of alien invasion so they could pick his brain, and also because he didn’t actually legally exist). But he’d gone a little stir crazy after three weeks in his new apartment, and having a job gave him a reason to get up in the morning.

 _Bobby’s Books_ was run by the surly Bobby Singer, who looked more like a mechanic than a bookseller, but he had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of dead languages, ancient religions, and various religious texts, and his collection was impressive. Bobby ran his store partially like a library as well. When people came in with obscure questions about mythology, Bobby was generous about letting them poke through his books for the answer. If he was feeling particularly generous, he might even look it up for them himself.

On very busy days, he enlisted Daniel’s help looking up answers, but half the time Bobby knew the answers off the top of his head.

Today Bobby was out of the shop, going to meet a rare book dealer in hopes of acquiring some medieval copies of ancient Hebrew texts about the god Dagon, so Daniel was manning the till all on his own. Because Bobby had apparently done a stint in a wheelchair, the shop was wheelchair accessible, though most days Daniel managed to get around on a crutch or on a prosthetic. In the snows of Colorado Springs, though, a prosthetic or crutches was just asking for a nasty spill on the icy sidewalks. Daniel, who’d been dealing with missing half a leg for less than six months, wasn’t nearly as proficient as he’d like to be on either the crutches or the prosthetic, so he resigned himself to his wheelchair, which he’d named Puddle Jumper out of a perverse sense of sticking it to this timeline’s General Landry.

“You must really hate this song.”

Daniel lifted his head sharply and stared at the man standing beside the display of ancient military texts.

John Sheppard.

“Pardon?”

“You keep looking at the radio like you want to set it on fire,” John said.

“Oh.” Daniel glanced at the battered radio in the corner. Bobby tuned it to either a station that played seemingly nothing but Zeppelin or to this ridiculously cheery Christmas station. “They just - overplay it.”

Being in his hometown for Christmas was a joke anyway. Colorado Springs had never really been Daniel’s hometown. He’d moved around so much as an adult, drifting from dig to dig, and before that he’d moved from foster home to foster home, and before that home had been with his parents (also drifting from dig to dig) so his hometown was...nonexistent. Daniel had long ago stopped thinking of himself as from a specific town. Daniel mostly thought of himself in terms of _from Earth_.

“Apart from Johnny Cash, country’s not really my thing,” John admitted.

Daniel had never pegged John Sheppard for the type of man to engage in small talk. “Johnny Cash kind of transcends genres, though, don’t you think?”

“I do think,” John said. He was wearing jeans and a soft-looking gray wool jumper beneath a black wool coat. His hair was as unruly as ever. Daniel didn’t know if he was a soldier in this timeline or not. “So, I’m looking for a book about samurai. A friend of mine said it was good reading, useful for business. I thought I’d give it a try.”

Daniel roused himself to make a sale. “Well,” he began, wheeling himself out from behind the desk, “the two most popular texts about samurai are _The Book of Five Rings_ and _Hagakure_. Where _Go Rin No Sho_ deals more explicitly with the art of kenjutsu, a lot of modern businessmen find its instruction about dealing with adversaries useful. _Hagakure_ is a more in-depth discussion of _bushido_ , but it offers some useful analyses about the transition of the samurai from warriors to administrators.” He saw the way John’s eyes widened at his wheelchair, but he said nothing. For the first few months he’d found himself apologizing for how slow he was, but after a while he gave up. If his disability made other people uncomfortable, that was their problem, not his. “Which are you more interested in?”

“I was never the type to bring a sword to a gunfight,” John said. “How about that second one? The _Haka -_ ”

“ _Hagakure._ ” Daniel pronounced it carefully for him. He peered at the shelves. Bobby, in some misguided attempt to appeal to his esoteric customers, had hidden popular texts like _The Art of War_ and _The Prince_ behind an ancient Arabic text on the training of Janissaries and a Mongol text on training archers.

“I was only stationed in Japan for a few months, and I never really got the hang of the language,” John murmured. He leaned over Daniel’s shoulder to peer at the other books. Inexplicably, he smelled good.

Daniel had never been close enough to the John Sheppard of his own timeline to find out what he smelled like, and he’d never tried to find out. After over a decade of working with the military, Daniel was well-versed in the art of turning a blind eye to the attractive male soldiers who seemed to surround him at the SGC.

“You stationed at Peterson or Schriever?” Daniel asked.

“Neither. Mustered out.”

Daniel pawed past several copies of _The Art of War_ , and there it was. A fairly new-looking edition of _Hagakure_. Daniel flipped through it to make sure it wasn’t unduly marked-up or missing any pages, and then he carried it back over to the till.

“You career?” Daniel asked. “Do your twenty?”

John nodded. “Yeah.” He flicked his gaze over the missing half of Daniel’s leg. “You?”

“No, just an unfortunate hike in Antarctica one time.” Daniel rang John up on the ancient brass cash register that Bobby loved so much.

“Antarctica? I finished out my service at McMurdo.”

Of course. Finished his service. Black mark on his record. No Stargate Program, no Atlantis, no salvation for John Sheppard. “How did you like it?”

“It wasn’t a bad post, actually.”

Daniel remembered how Jack had grumbled, _He_ likes _it here_.

“Is that why you seem familiar?” John asked. “Did I ever see you there?”

“Not that I recall.” Daniel searched John’s expression; the inquiry seemed sincere enough. “Admittedly my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

John huffed as he fished some cash out of his wallet. “You can’t be that much older than me.”

“About five years, I’d guess.” Daniel remembered something Sam had said once, about how 1970 was the year for Flyboys, with Sheppard and Cam and Lorne all coming out of the same year - and same class at Test Pilot School.

“See? Not that much older.” John smiled, and was it Daniel’s imagination, or was there something...flirty in the man’s eyes?

“True, but I have sustained my unfair share of head injuries and concussions.” Daniel wrapped the book in brown paper and tied off the package with twine, pushed it across the desk with John’s change.

“I didn’t realize bookselling was so perilous.”

“Wasn’t always a bookseller.”

“What did you do before?”

Daniel started to say _archaeology_ , then paused. He wasn’t Daniel Jackson, archaeologist. Not in this timeline. He was Daniel Ballard, a former high school Spanish teacher who’d been in a nasty car accident.

Finally, he said, “That’s classified.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you weren’t a soldier.”

“I wasn’t.”

John leaned on the desk, dark eyes bright. “You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

“You were a soldier once. You know what classified means,” Daniel said.

“True, but -”

The phone rang. Daniel scooped it up. “Bobby’s Books, this is Daniel speaking.”

“Hey, Danno.” It was Dean, one of Bobby’s adopted sons. “Is Bobby around?”

“Bobby’s on a book run. What do you need?”

“Do you happen to know, off the top of your head, the sacred number of the temple of Qudshu?”

Daniel’s throat closed. Qudshu was another name for Qetesh. Vala. “Not off the top of my head, no. When it comes to goddesses like Qudshu, they were often combined with other goddesses of similar function in a process called syncretism -”

“In a bit of a hurry, Professor.” Dean was trying to keep his tone light, but he sounded strained. “Say the way into her palace was a puzzle lock. Grid of three by three. Nine tiles. Only one with a fixed position is number five.”

“Dean, I’m a linguist, not a mathematician,” Daniel said, and winced at how like Dr. McCoy he sounded. When he glanced up, John was still leaning on the counter, watching him with open curiosity, and he remembered a throwaway comment by Rodney when he was on Atlantis. _He could have been in MENSA._ Daniel tilted the receiver away from his mouth and said, “Hey, you look like you’re good at math. Can you help me out?”

John raised his eyebrows, pointed to himself, and Daniel nodded. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and drew the three-by-three grid, with the five in the middle.

“Dean, it’s a magic square,” he said.

“I get that,” Dean said, “but what order do the tiles go in?”

“No, I mean - the tiles. They’re numbered from one to nine, yes?”

“Yes.”

Daniel handed John the pen, tapped the diagram. “You’re supposed to arrange the tiles so they add up to fifteen in every direction, columns, rows, and diagonals.”

“What?” Dean protested. “Sammy, get over here. You’re better at math than I am. Which of these adds up to fifteen?”

But John had already filled out the square. He turned it around and showed it to Daniel. Daniel mouthed _thanks_ and said, “Wait, we got it. You ready?”

“Who’s we?” Sam asked.

“You’re on speaker,” Dean said.

Daniel read off the numbers, and he heard a suspiciously loud grinding sound in the background and then Dean said, “Thanks! Gotta go.” And the call ended.

Daniel stared at the receiver for a long moment. “Well, that wasn’t at all weird.” He hung up the phone. “Thanks for that. You _are_ good at math.”

John, like Jack, was much smarter than he let on. “You’re welcome, and thanks.” John smiled. “What was that for?”

“Bobby’s sons. They’re into some pretty heavy live-action Dungeons and Dragons. They call Bobby all the time to help him solve puzzles.” At least, they said it was D&D, but Dean and Sam, with their flannel shirts and dusty jeans and biker boots and badly-concealed pistols had never struck Daniel as the D&D type.

John chuckled. “Well, you’re nice to enable them.”

“Everyone needs hobbies.”

“What are your hobbies?”

“I like to read.”

John scanned the bookshelves behind Daniel. “I guess this job is ideal for you, then.”

“In some ways, yes. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Have coffee with me sometime?”

Daniel blinked.

John added, “I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes.”

In this timeline, Daniel realized, John had never met Rodney McKay.

Daniel thought of Jack, of late nights and chess games and go games, of wry soldier humor and hidden intelligence. John Sheppard was no Jack O’Neill, but Daniel Jackson was no Rodney McKay.

He fixed on a smile, a smile he hadn’t had to use in a long time, and said, “Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the comment_fic prompt: "any, any, bookstore au."
> 
> John and Daniel date.

John didn’t know what to expect from a coffee date with a man like Daniel Ballard, who knew obscure mythology trivia, spoke at least Japanese, loved books, hated Christmas music, and rolled around in a wheelchair, having lost half of one leg. But the date actually went well.

Daniel met John at the coffee shop around the corner from Bobby’s Books. John had arrived early and picked a table near the window even though it was colder, and he’d watched the sidewalk anxiously for Daniel’s approach, ready to jump up and hold the door for him, but Daniel had come limping up the sidewalk, bundled into what looked like a surplus military jacket, a black beanie hat, and a fraying wool scarf.

He’d stepped into the coffee shop and John had found himself rising to his feet, just as he’d learned as a youth to be polite to - well, a woman, or at least a date.

Daniel turned to him and smiled, and yeah, he had a great smile. John really was a sucker for a pretty pair of blue eyes. He’d been intrigued by Daniel’s vast knowledge of books, of mythology, and the way he’d blithely called upon John’s math skills for help with a very strange task. Math was something John loved, and he’d had disappointingly little call for it over his military career despite his CO’s enthusiasm that he’d earned his masters in computational fluid dynamics.

“You - you’re walking,” were the first words out of John’s mouth, which really wasn’t what he’d had planned.

Daniel shrugged, unoffended. “My physical therapist got after me for not using my prosthetics except outside my apartment, even though the icy sidewalks are a death trap, but I’m trying to be a better patient.” He sank down in the seat opposite John, and John sat down as well. Daniel tugged off his beanie and scarf, set them aside, shrugged off his jacket, and underneath he was wearing soft-knit cream sweater.

“So,” John said, “what kind of coffee do you like?”

Before Daniel could answer, the young woman acting as waitress paused at the table and flashed Daniel a bright and definitely flirtatious smile. “Daniel, so good to see you. The usual?”

“Yes, please, Melissa.”

John raised his eyebrows. “You have a usual?”

“I come here a lot,” Daniel said, and okay, it made sense that he’d suggested the place. It was close to work, which meant he wouldn’t have to walk far, and it was safe ground for him. Familiar.

John was on fairly unfamiliar ground. He’d been out of the Air Force for four years and still acted like DADT was looming over his head. Asking a strange man out on a whim was - brave, for him. Flying over enemy airspace knowing there were rocket launchers on the ground? Not nearly as scary as what he’d done a week ago, in that bookstore.

“And for your friend?” Melissa cast John a look.

Daniel looked John up and down and said, “Well, since we’re not on a military base in the middle of nowhere, he doesn’t have to take it black, so...let’s try the gentleman on a Sumatra Mandheling as well, but only one cream, no sugar.”

“How did you know?”

Melissa scribbled the order down.

“Wasn’t sure about the brand,” Daniel admitted, “but you seem like the kind of man who isn’t overly fond of sweet things.”

“What makes you say that? Was it the math?”

Daniel shrugged enigmatically. “I studied anthropology. Occasionally I’m good at reading people.”

But something in his gaze was - knowing.

“Well, what do I want for a pastry, then?”

“ _Pain au chocolat_ ,” Daniel said without missing a beat. He pronounced the French perfectly.

Melissa wrote that down as well. “Anything else?”

“That’ll be good for now, thank you.” Daniel smiled at her again.

“And the check?”

“I’ve got it,” John said, before Daniel could speak. “Since I was the one who asked.”

“Fair enough. I’ll pick up the check next time.”

Melissa’s bright smile dimmed; she swallowed hard. “I’ll be sure to get those right out to you.” And she hurried away.

“So,” John said, and his heart was pounding, and why did this feel like high school all over again? “There’s going to be a next time?”

“Why not? You’re attractive and intelligent, and you’re pleasant. I’m interested in getting to know you better.” Daniel shrugged, and John might have been offended at how flippant his tone was if he didn’t notice the heat in Daniel’s gaze. “So, you solved that math puzzle really quickly. MENSA?”

“No. I mean, I passed the test, but I never joined. That puzzle was on the test, though. You?”

“MENSA was never my kind of thing. Too much math. So, were you an engineer with the Air Force?”

“Chopper pilot, actually.”

“Let me guess, you’re a speed demon?”

“A bit of one,” John admitted. “What about you? You work in a bookstore, you speak Japanese and French, you know obscure mythology trivia.”

“I used to teach high school Spanish,” Daniel said, with a wry twist of his lips. “That’s why I’m patient with Bobby’s nephews and their live-action D&D.”

And so they talked - about John’s time wrangling brand new trainee pilots, and Daniel’s time wrangling unruly students. John talked about how he’d grown up with money but wasn’t interested in the family business, joined the military instead, rebelled by going to Stanford instead of Harvard.

Daniel’s eyes lit up. “You went to Stanford? I went to UCLA.”

“Are you from California?”

“No, not originally. I grew up in New York, mostly. But I really liked California.” Daniel leaned in. “So,you grew up with money. Tell me, John Sheppard, did you have a pony?”

John hesitated, and Daniel cackled with glee. “I knew it! I can see it now, you all tiny and spiky-haired, with jodhpurs and a riding jacket and the little helmet and crop.”

“I wore my hair longer when I was younger,” John protested.

“Me too.” Daniel scrubbed a hand over his hair ruefully. “But after a while it was - impractical. Got in the way.”

Impractical for what? John wondered. Melissa stopped by to refill their coffee often. The expression on her face whenever she looked at Daniel was sad. The look on her face for John was downright venomous. How Daniel could know how John took his coffee and what pastry he liked but be oblivious to Melissa made no sense.

Or maybe it made perfect sense, since Melissa was a girl and John was a man.

“Did you not have pets growing up?” John asked.

“Does a pony count as a pet?” Daniel smirked.

John refrained from mentioning his father’s brace of hunting hounds.

“I really didn’t have pets till long after I was done with college. Moved around too much,” Daniel said. “But I had fish. For seven years. Took really good care of them. And then -” He gestured at his left leg absently.

“If it’s not too personal, what happened?” John asked.

“It’s not personal, but it is classified.”

John sat back. “I don’t get you, Daniel Ballard.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were a high school Spanish teacher, but you did classified work? And you speak so many more languages than Spanish -”

“It really does get easier after the third one.”

“And I feel like you _know_ me in ways I don’t even know myself.”

Daniel looked at him for a long time. “I don’t know you nearly as well as I’d like.”

Like that, John was hooked.

They agreed to go out again, the traditional dinner and a movie. Since Daniel was officially doing the asking, he picked the restaurant, but he let John pick the movie.

They ended up going to see _Gran Torino_ and had an intense discussion of Hmong culture over dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant. Daniel knew all kinds of fascinating details about the raging inaccuracies depicted in the film, and he could order in Hmong, after discussing the menu with John.

So weekly dates became a thing - though it was obvious on Daniel’s limited income that fancy nights out couldn’t be done often - and John stopping by the bookstore for a cup of coffee on his lunch break became a daily thing.

Ostensibly, John had caved and joined the family business after his father’s death, not on the board as the other directors feared but in R&D, doing calculations, working on portable energy solutions for the military. He’d agreed to be transferred to the office in Colorado Springs, where they were working with NORAD. Dave had been hoping John’s status as former military would be useful, but John mostly slouched around in the lab with the other scientists, running calculations and occasionally making outrageous suggestions just to wind them up - and get them thinking in new directions.

After the first couple of dates - another dinner and a movie, an evening at the shooting range (John figured it would be active but not require Daniel to run around too much; Daniel had selected and proved surprisingly adept with a Beretta 92FS) - they ended up alternating in at each other’s apartments. They’d cook, eat, then watch movies or play chess.

Daniel was damn good at chess. Between John’s math skills and his military training, he knew he was a tough customer when it came to chess, much to the frustration of some of the other scientists in the lab when he got ahold of the community chess board. But Daniel was - infuriating.

“How are you so good at this?”

“You’re not the first soldier I’ve played,” Daniel said. “Besides I grew up playing a lot of similar games - _go, shogi, xiangqi, bagh-chal_.”

“You mentioned you moved around a lot.” John studied the board and was nervous. He felt like he was poised to take control of the middle game, but he could never see what Daniel had coming, not far enough out to win.

“Yes, my parents were archaeologists, and I went with them on their digs. I was home-schooled, up to a point.”

“Up to a point?” John studied Daniel.

“They died in an accident when I was eight. It was foster care after that, till they emancipated me so I could go to college.”

John thought of that first date, where he’d complained about how he’d grown up, and felt like a jerk.

Daniel caught John’s eye and smiled. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t a horrible childhood. My foster parents were nice. No one hurt me.”

John had gone back to Virginia to see Dave and his wife and kids for Christmas, because it was better than nothing. Daniel had said he and Bobby were having a Christmas get-together with Bobby’s nephews, and at the time John had thought it a kindness on Daniel’s part, since he knew Bobby was a widower and Daniel had no siblings. They’d only been dating for a couple of weeks by the time Christmas rolled around, and John hadn’t thought -

Hadn’t thought.

He was usually so tied up in his own head, with math and company politics and still, after four years, trying to shake being a soldier, that he hadn’t thought too much about where this was going. So far it was - middle school, in its chastity. They’d hold hands when they walked in the cold, and John took some perverse pleasure in leaning across the desk at the bookstore and kissing Daniel hello, because it was something he’d never dreamed of doing as a soldier, and their kisses goodnight were long and lingering, but -

John didn’t know what the hell to do about Daniel’s leg. Was the injury still painful? He’d seen Daniel smile pleasantly through the worst exchanges with irate customers, so if Daniel was in constant pain, John would have no way of knowing. When they were at Daniel’s place, he’d abandon his prosthetic - the way it rubbed on the stump irritated him even though he had calluses building - and get around with his crutch, which he was very agile with.

But he’d never initiated physical intimacy with John, and John still had enough soldier in him that he hesitated every time he thought to try.

“I’ll tell you what,” John said. “Since you continue to absolutely trounce me at chess, let’s up the ante. Even if I lose, for every piece of yours I take, you take off a piece of clothing.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “Strip chess?”

“And for every piece of mine you take, I take off a piece of clothing.” John remembered the heat in Daniel’s gaze on that very first date.

Daniel looked John up and down with that same heat and said, “Deal.”

It was the best deal John had ever made. Daniel was beautiful, all golden skin and smooth muscles - he looked like he worked out, though he never mentioned it. He had scars on him, too. The kinds of scars John associated with soldiers, with combat - old bullet wounds and burns and worse.

The way Daniel looked at John every time he peeled off another layer was flattering, to say the least. John had just lost a pawn and was unbuckling his belt when Daniel swept the board aside with one hand and surged forward, tugged John into a kiss that was all roaming hands and rubbing chests and Daniel’s oh-so-talented tongue doing things that made John unable to think.

“I’ve been waiting for so long,” Daniel groaned when he pulled back for air.

“You? _I’ve_ been waiting.”

“You’re a former soldier. I figured you needed - time.”

“I - your leg -”

“Does not impede the function of my hormones or my dick.”

John laughed against Daniel’s mouth. “We’ve both been stupid, for a pair of smart guys like us.”

“Let’s take our new and improved smarts to the bedroom, shall we?”

“Yes.”

Daniel wasn’t kidding. His leg didn’t pain him one bit. Apparently all his PT paid off, because he was impressively flexible and had great stamina, and hours later, they lay sated and curled around each other on the cooling sheets.

“Yep. Definitely should have done that sooner.” John sighed happily and nuzzled under Daniel’s chin, listened to his heart.

“Agreed.” Daniel pressed a kiss to John’s hair. “So, next time, your place, with your much nicer bed.”

“It’s a date.”

They kissed languidly, drowsily, and John had just about drifted off to sleep when Daniel’s phone rang.

Daniel groaned. “It’s the middle of the night. What the hell?”

John groaned and buried his head under one of the pillows. “Why do you have a land line? Embrace cell phones like the rest of us.”

“I also have a cell phone,” Daniel pointed out mildly. He groped for one of the other pillows and flung it at the phone. Missed.

It rang some more.

John flung another pillow. Missed.

And then, blessedly, the voicemail kicked on.

“Hey, Daniel, it’s Sam. I need your help on a Latin translation. Kinda stat. Call me as soon as you get this.”

Daniel, whose glasses had disappeared in the frantic transfer to the bed, squinted at the phone in disbelief.

John sighed. “You really have to stop indulging them.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the fic_promptly prompt: "Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid, a trip to his favorite bookstore."

Spencer’s favorite bookshop in the whole of the continental United States was Bobby’s Books in Colorado Springs, Colorado. It wasn’t Powell’s Books in Portland, even though that was what everyone assumed. Bigger wan’t always better.  
  
No, it was Bobby’s. Spencer only managed to get out there whenever the team had a case nearby, but he always stopped in when he was there, no matter what. He had foregone meals just so he could make a trip to Bobby’s. Even though he was lucky to make it there maybe once a quarter, Bobby always had something set aside for him.  
  
It was spring this time, when Spencer stopped by. He was wearing a scarf against the intermountain chill, but it was warm once he made it past the first few rows of shelves, so he unknotted it and let it hang around his neck. He could have made a beeline for the front desk and see what Bobby had saved for him, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to browse.  
  
Bobby had organized his shop with extra-wide aisles between the shelves; he had been wheelchair-bound for a while and never bothered to change it back, and Spencer liked it. It meant he could stop and peruse a potential purchase and not worry about other people jostling him as they passed.  
  
Bobby had a little corner dedicated to popular fiction, but he dealt in the rare and obscure, things he find useful in the strangest of ways and thought other people might find useful. Spencer’s teammates would assume he’d head for medieval literature, but instead Spencer lingered in the employee recommendation corner. This month, Bobby was recommending a translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh because _this one doesn’t pull its punches; also useful references on the Seed of Life and the glowing stones_. Sam, one of Bobby’s nephews, was recommending a lovely linen-bound version of The Neverending Story. _Don’t watch the movies. Read the book. A fantastic exploration of how fiction and reality affect each other, and the power of imagination. Consider this before summoning a tulpa._ Dean, Bobby’s other nephew, was recommending Stephen King’s Christine. _Hot car. Horror. Win._  
  
Daniel was new. Spencer wasn’t sure if he was one of Bobby’s relatives or an employee. His recommendation was an obscure volume about the evolution of linguistics in Ancient Egypt, by Melvin Jackson. _Thought-provoking and thorough. You’ll never look at hieroglyphics the same._ John was also new. Spencer thought maybe he was one of Bobby’s relatives. He’d heard talk of a John before. John’s recommendation was a translation of War and Peace. _A blend of war, fiction, and philosophy. Classic for a reason._  
  
Spencer picked up The Neverending Story and flipped through it, but the colors would make his eyes hurt. He picked through the others and ended up going with Daniel’s recommendation. When he opened the book and inhaled the scent of its pages, it reminded him of his mother’s office.  
  
Finally, he wandered up to the front counter, and the man sitting behind it in a wheelchair was unfamiliar.  
  
“You must be Spencer,” he said, and offered a hand. “I’m Daniel.”  
  
Spencer usually called Bobby to let him know he’d be in town, but he didn’t always manage it, and he couldn’t remember if he had done so this time. Whirlwind case. But the gritty details of his cases did not permeate the solid brick walls of Bobby’s Books.  
  
Spencer shook Daniel’s hand, pushed the book across the table. “Are you one of Bobby’s nephews?”  
  
“Ah, no. Bobby was just kind enough to take in another stray.” Daniel reached under the desk and came up with a brown-wrapped book.  
  
Spencer didn’t know what it was, but he knew he’d love it. He paid for both it and the other book he chose.  
  
“Enjoy it,” Daniel said with a smile. “Don’t buy into the sensational criticism, about aliens building the pyramids. But think about how language seems to have sprung, fully-formed, in this part of the world.”  
  
Spencer nodded. “I will. Thank you.”  
  
Daniel poured Spencer a mug of coffee from the carafe behind the desk, offered him the entire canister of sugar.  
  
Spencer sipped at it cautiously once he mixed in the sugar, smiled. “Thank you.” Of course Bobby remembered how he took his coffee and thought to tell his employees the same. Bobby was a grumbling curmudgeon but truly good at heart.  
  
Daniel rang him up slowly, and Spencer scanned their surroundings. He spotted a _go_ board at the other end of the counter, in the middle of a game.  
  
“You play?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Playing against yourself?”  
  
“Ah, no. My boyfriend. John.”  
  
Interesting, that a non-employee could make book recommendations at the store. Unless John was an employee as well? Romance formed in a bookstore. That was Spencer’s kind of romance.  
  
“Will he be upset if we reset the game?” Spencer asked.  
  
“Seeing how he’s losing, no. He’ll be pleased if you can beat me.” Daniel smiled and wheeled over to the board, dragged it back so it was closer to the cash register, and reset the black and white stones.  
  
They played for hours. Spencer talked about his mother and the literature she taught, carefully avoiding any mention of her mental illness or his job. He talked about what he had learned in college, some of the fun projects he had worked on. Daniel talked about his childhood, following his archaeologist parents around on digs, all the places in the world he got to see. He never talked about how all of his stories about his parents ended when he was eight, but he talked about his time in college, and his joy in his first marriage (he didn’t say it, but Spencer knew his wife was dead), and how things were going with his current boyfriend.  
  
Spencer confessed that he had been in love with a coworker for a long time but never pursued it, romance in the workplace being unwise and all. But Daniel asked about this coworker, and he listened, when Spencer talked about how he fell in love, and when, and why, and why he was still in love.  
  
Daniel decimated him at _go_ , but then Spencer was never so good at chess either, even under Gideon’s patient tutelage.  
  
“Sorry your boyfriend will be disappointed,” Spencer said as Daniel recreated the game he and John had been playing from memory.  
  
Daniel smiled. “Thanks for a good game.”  
  
Spencer checked his watch. He needed to meet up with his team. “You’re welcome.”  
  
“See you again, Spencer.”  
  
“And you, Daniel.”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
Spencer walked out into the golden spring afternoon, two books tucked under his arm, and felt alive again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the episode titles comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, Rodney McKay, Dr. Hell No (Black-ish)."
> 
> Dr. Rodney McKay joins Sheppard Industries and is paired with none other than the beautiful, brilliant John Sheppard.

“Doctor -”

“Hell no,” Rodney said automatically, because he’d been working at Sheppard Industries for less than three hours and only managed to get half an hour’s work done because he’d been constantly interrupted by well-meaning morons welcoming him to the project.

“Dr. Hell No. I like it,” a man said, and Rodney looked up from his laptop, which the chimps in IT hadn’t even halfway set up properly.

A man and woman stood in the doorway. Rodney vaguely remembered the woman - Miki or something - from the endless streams of introductions and interruptions earlier that day, when he’d been given the grand tour (lab, lunch room, office, bathrooms).

The man was handsome in all the right ways - lean, with narrow but even features, his eyes bright but an indiscernible color, his dark hair just-fucked messy. Unlike the woman, who wore a white lab coat like all the other scientists, the man wore a dark turtleneck sweater and a pair of perfectly tailored slacks.

“Sounds like a parody of a James Bond movie,” the man drawled.

“My name is Dr. Rodney McKay,” he said, and turned back to his laptop, because no one’s hotness was worth being distracted from science. “And if you expect me to get anything done, you can stop interrupting me. And where is that calculator? I needed one yesterday.”

“Dr. McKay,” Miki-Mika-someone said, “I want you to meet -”

“Yes, Dr. Whoever, I’m sure you’re incredibly excited to have me on the project, but unless you can solve this equation and tell me what the work to energy conversion is, we’ll talk later,” Rodney said, jerking a thumb at the whiteboard behind him without looking away from his computer.

“Not a doctor,” the man said, “just John Sheppard, and fifteen percent.”

“I knew it!” Rodney looked up. “I _knew_ it would be more than ten percent.” And then he realized. “John...Sheppard. As in -”

“Yes, one of those Sheppards, but no, not here to gladhand you or give you well-meaning but vaguely threatening speeches about what the company expects from you,” he said. “You said you needed a calculator. Here I am.”

“You?” Rodney echoed. He knew it was a terrible stereotype, that good-looking people were stupider than ugly-looking people, because the universe wasn’t a fair place, and someone could have won the genetic lottery with both brains and beauty.

John Sheppard obviously had both in spades.

“Got my masters in computational fluid dynamics. Also I’m just good at calculating things in my head. Like a seal balancing a ball on my nose.” John smirked, the expression more self-deprecating than amused. “But you should have a perfectly serviceable scientific calculator on your computer system. Pre-installed. Mostly I’m here for you to talk at, berate, and occasionally run numbers for you. Maybe make your equations a bit - neater. Prettier.”

“I wouldn’t say _berate,”_ Rodney began, but then John straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe, drew his hands out of his pockets - he wore a curious black wristband on his right wrist - and made a beeline for the whiteboard, where he proceeded to erase all of Rodney’s calculations.

Rodney spluttered and leaped to his feet, ready to defend his whiteboard to the death. “What are you doing? You can’t just _wipe out_ all my hard work -”

Only John was rewriting the calculations, neater, more economical. Also his handwriting was just generally more legible than Rodney’s.

“At Sheppard Industries, we care about our employees’ wellbeing, because it leads to better productivity and innovation,” John said, not without a trace of irony. “We talked to your previous employers. We’ve heard about your...process.”

Heard he didn’t play well with others.

“We respect your process because it gets results. So, I’ll finish rewriting these equations so you have more room to work, and then I’ll go get you a glass of lemon-free ice water and another couple of whiteboards, and we’ll see what innovations we can come up with today, shall we?”

Rodney glanced at Miki-Mika-Miko.

She looked pleased. “Welcome to the team, Rodney,” she said, waved, and vanished.

Rodney sank back in his chair. “All right. I’ll just finish setting up my computer.”

“You do that.”

Rodney hunkered down and opened a command prompt window. Time to get to work. He barely noticed, some indeterminate time later, when a glass of ice water appeared at his elbow, or when his coffee mug was refilled.

He did notice, when he stood up to make another run at those work to energy conversions to see if he couldn’t get something better than fifteen percent, that there was more room on his whiteboard, and his previous equations had been preserved in their most simplified form, neatly.

And with a little Polaroid picture tacked to the edge of the whiteboard with a decorative magnet, just in case.

Rodney was startled out of his deep musings while he stared at the whiteboard, hoping for inspiration, when John said,

“I’m going out for lunch. Back in an hour. Want me to bring you anything?”

“Something non-citrus,” was all Rodney said, because he was too busy to be hungry.

He was back at his computer, trying to reconcile a series of calculations from some upstart named Amita (why did everyone in this place go by first names? It wasn’t elementary school) with what he’d learned of improved energy tech from the Air Force, when a brown paper bag appeared at his elbow.

“What’s this?”

“An avocado salad and a brownie, both non-citrus,” John said. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it on the doorknob, plopped down in a desk chair that hadn’t been there that morning. “Wasn’t sure if you’d want something heart-attack inducing or not, didn’t know if you were vegetarian or not, so I tried a bit of both - vegetarian salad, big gooey brownie.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“It’s your first day. Should be special.” John grinned at him, briefly, and he really was beautiful.

And Rodney remembered. It was his first day at Sheppard Industries and John Sheppard had brought to him lunch.

“Thank you. I - really appreciate it. You didn’t have to do this. You’re not my secretary.”

“I’m your calculator,” John drawled. “So, what are you working on now?”

Rodney wasn’t sure how to describe his attempts to create a power source that drew on energy through an interdimensional bridge without going into a lot of physics John probably wouldn’t know.

But did he have to know it? Most of the time Rodney didn’t get coherent responses when he was trying to explain himself to other physicists. So long as John listened and made encouraging noises, Rodney could keep up his momentum.

So he launched into his explanation.

John leaned in, gaze intense, nodded in all the right places.

When Rodney finally ran out of steam, John said,

“I’ll grant you, the chances of picking energy from an inhabited dimension are miniscule, but what about exotic particles crossing back over the bridge? If you’re drawing energy from that dimension, won’t the particles come with it?”

“I’m sure there’s a way to control the flow of energy,” Rodney said.

“Like Maxwell’s Demon?”

“Something like it.” Rodney managed to keep a straight face, sound nonchalant; he’d been an award-winning actor as a teenager, had only gotten better since then even if he hadn’t been in any further acting competitions.

Not only was John Sheppard incredibly hot, he was incredibly smart.

The universe was unfair.

And of course, there was no way John would swing Rodney’s way, because when it came to Rodney, the universe was just cruel.

“That’s brilliant,” John said. “But maybe a bit too brilliant for me, and my head is hurting, and also, would you look at that? It’s five o’clock.” He nodded at the clock on the wall.

“So?”

“So, work day’s over.” John reached for his jacket. “You’ve been brilliant. First day’s a success. Let’s go get dinner.”

“But - shouldn’t we stay? Keep working?” Rodney cast an anxious glance at the whiteboard with their shared equations scribbled all over it.

“Work day’s over,” John repeated. “Take a break. If you burn yourself out, you’re not doing anyone any favors, least of all you. Besides, it’s your first day, you should celebrate more. I’m buying.”

Well, John _was_ sort of the boss, wasn’t he? Even if he wasn’t _the_ Sheppard, he was _a_ Sheppard, and that had to count for something.

“There’s a great steakhouse in town, O’Malley’s. You got anyone you want to bring? A Mrs. McKay? Future Mrs. McKay? Lady du jour who’s worth a good steak?”

“Ah, no, none of the above,” Rodney said, heart sinking. Of course John assumed he was straight. Because John was obviously straight.

“All right. Let me call my other half. You want to ride with me? I didn’t ride my motorbike today.” John waved at people as he led Rodney to the elevator.

The thought of riding on the back of John’s motorcycle, arms around his waist, pressed up against his back, was a welcome one.

But Rodney pushed it aside. “Sure. I don’t really know my way around yet.”

“Great.” John fished his cellphone out of his pocket. “Hey, want to go out for dinner? I’m buying. Got assigned a new partner at work, it’s his first day, and he was brilliant, so we’re celebrating. I figure since you’ve introduced me to Bobby and his godsons and the rest, it’s only fair you meet some of my people. C’mon, it’s O’Malley’s.” He smiled, fond, and Rodney’s throat closed.

Could he really do this, go out to dinner with John Sheppard and watch him be all moony over some big-breasted supermodel? Not that Rodney had anything against beautiful women, because he swung both ways, but -

No, this was a perfectly good idea. Rodney could see that John was very firmly taken by the lovely trophy wife Mrs. Sheppard and that would help him get over this already very pathetic crush that much faster. Besides, Rodney had entered college at age sixteen and double-majored in mechanical engineering and physics, with a minor in computer programming. He was a masochist. He’d done worse to himself than partner on a project with someone super hot and totally unavailable.

“I knew you’d see reason,” John said, and laughed softly. “All right. Meet you there.” He hung up, pocketed his phone, and led Rodney to a sleek red Camaro. “Hop in.”

Rodney slid into the passenger seat, and the engine rumbled to life beneath him. He was bad at small talk. “So, motorcycle, sports car. You some kind of speed demon?”

“Some kind,” John said.

“Do you fly your own private jet, too?” Too late, Rodney realized how disdainful he sounded, but John shook his head.

“No. Passenger planes are boring. But I am a trained pilot. I prefer choppers, actually. I mean, I can fly an actual jet, like an F-16, but in the end I prefer rotor.”

Rodney glanced at John. “You were in the armed forces?”

“You’re looking at Major John Sheppard, United States Air Force, retired,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Every family’s got a black sheep.” John shrugged. “Dad and Dave’s thing was making money. Mine was - math. And flying things. I’m done flying things, so...math.”

“You’re very good at it,” Rodney said.

“Why thank you.” John guided the car out of the underground parking lot and into the town proper. “Welcome to Colorado Springs. You found a place yet?”

“I have an apartment. My things are being shipped, should arrive in the next couple of days.”

“You going to have a moving-in party?”

“A what?”

“We used to have them on base all time. New guy shows up with his life in boxes, everyone pitches in to get them moved in and unpacked.”

“The only person I know is you,” Rodney said.

“And Miko. She helped me, too.”

That was her name. Miko. He’d been close, with Miki and Mika. “If it’s not too much of an imposition.” Rodney would be the first to admit he was terrible at asking for help. Also he wasn’t sure he wanted his coworkers to see just how little he had and how pathetic most of it was, like Star Trek paraphernalia and pictures of all the cats he’d ever had.

“Rodney, we’re going to spend the next how many days, weeks, and months crammed into your little office while you yell at me between brilliant discoveries. Might as well put all our cards on the table now,” John said.

Before Rodney could respond to that, John was parking the car and hopping out. He waited for Rodney, and then together they strode into O’Malley’s, which looked like a fairly quaint place, dim-lit inside with heavy wooden furniture and leather-upholstered booths. An attractive woman was talking to the hostess at the hostess stand.

John headed for the hostess stand.

Rodney stared at the beautiful woman waiting there for him, already feeling his heart sink. The universe was so unfair, and it wasn’t required to give him a break ever, really, but couldn’t it? Just this once?

“Sheppard, table for three,” John said to the hostess.

She nodded. “The rest of your party has been waiting,” she said.

And then a man was standing beside John.

John leaned in, kissed him on the cheek.

Fuck you, universe, Rodney thought. Because apparently John Sheppard was gay. Or bi. Or whatever. The _one time_ the super hot guy swung Rodney’s way, and of course he was taken.

“How was your day?” the man asked.

“Good,” John said. He turned, beckoned to Rodney.

Lay all our cards on the table, John had said. He’d served in the military. His openly being with a man was huge, Rodney realized. This wasn’t just a welcome - it was also a test. To see if Rodney was homophobic.

He was hurt.

“Rodney, this is Daniel Ballard. Daniel, this is -”

“Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD,” Daniel said, with something like resignation on his face.

Daniel Ballard was tall, with neat, even features, bright blue eyes, soft brown hair, and glasses. As a youth he’d probably been downright pretty.

John blinked. “You’ve heard of him?”

“I - occasionally have a passing interest in theoretical physics,” Daniel said. “Today’s his first day?”

John nodded. “Yeah. We’re partnered together on something proprietary but regarding clean energy.”

“Of course you are,” Daniel said, and was it Rodney’s imagination, or did he sound jealous?

The hostess led them to a table for four, swept the fourth setting out of the way, and distributed menus. Daniel ordered water, but John ordered champagne for all of them.

“So, is it zero point energy, or energy generated with an exotic power source, like a rare metal?” Daniel asked.

“Neither,” John said, and he looked a little perplexed. Then he glanced at Rodney. “You have two PhDs?”

“Yes,” Rodney said, and he couldn’t help but preen a little. “In physics and mechanical engineering.”

“Impressive,” John said. Then he nudged Daniel. “This guy’s got three.”

“Three?” Rodney echoed, because that was impressive.

“Not in anything you’d care about,” Daniel said, “but anthropology, archaeology, and linguistics.”

Even if those subjects barely deserved to be called sciences, three PhDs was a lot of work. “So, what do you do?”

“I work at a bookstore these days,” Daniel said. “It’s where John and I met. When I saw you at lunch, you didn’t say anything about your new work partner.”

John had had lunch with his boyfriend? Of course he had. He was the kind of guy who left the office at five.

“We’re still getting to know each other,” John said. “I was still feeling him out.”

Daniel nodded. “So, Rodney, tell us some more about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

“I - well, I like to read science journals.” Rodney glanced at John. Was this also some kind of test?

John laughed. “You sound like Daniel. He works in a bookstore, and for fun he likes to read books.”

“And play piano,” Daniel protested.

Rodney said, “I play the piano. I mean - I know how. It’s been a while.”

“I have a piano at my place, because Daniel’s is too small,” John said. “If you ever want to borrow it.”

They didn’t live together? How long had they been together? No, Rodney didn’t dare get his hopes up.

“You much into strategy games like chess or _go?”_ John asked. “Because someone needs to knock Daniel off this throne. I’ve yet to meet someone who can beat him, and I’ve pitted him against a lot of people.”

“You make me sound like some kind of prize fighting dog,” Daniel drawled, and John laughed.

“That’s because you tear people to pieces in those games, smiling politely all the while.”

The waitress arrived to take their orders. Rodney admitted a fondness for radio-controlled cars, which John shared - and of course he also loved radio-controlled helicopters. Rodney admitted he liked the theater, though he hadn’t enjoyed a good play in a while.

John made a face, and Rodney’s heart sank, but then he lit up. “Daniel, you could finally have a theater buddy!”

“I’m sure Rodney would rather go with someone other than his work partner’s boyfriend,” Daniel said.

John leaned in, lowered his voice. “If you got all dressed up in a tux, I might be convinced to go with you.”

And of course, Rodney had to go and imagine John in a tux, and _damn._ Because he was a Sheppard, he probably had one tailored just for him.

John hadn’t been kidding - O’Malley’s had great steaks, and the service was pretty good. After the salad John had gotten him today, which spoke of going to some fancy health place, he’d expected Daniel to be a health-conscious vegan or something, but he had a steak with the rest of them.

With the champagne, they toasted the success of Rodney’s first day, hope for the success of the project, and then John had to go and toast to new friends being made. Daniel was handsome, polite, and as much as he was clearly some kind of bleeding heart liberal arts major at the core, he was intelligent, and he and John obviously had a strong relationship.

Not that Rodney was the homewrecking kind anyway.

Daniel seemed familiar with the military tradition of move-in parties, talked about maybe getting his boss’s two young, strong godsons to come haul boxes as well.

“Dean will do just about anything for a beer,” Daniel said. “And you know if Miko comes, she’ll bring some of her famous red-bean mochi cakes.”

Somehow Daniel managed to talk Rodney into letting the move-in party happen. Rodney described the location and layout of his apartment as best as he could, and phone numbers were exchanged to further coordinate the event.

After supper, they finished the champagne, and then John promised to meet Daniel back at his place after he ran Rodney back to his car.

On the way back to Sheppard Industries, Rodney said, “So, did I pass?”

John glanced at him. “I’m glad you’re not a raging homophobe. I’m done with hiding that part of myself. Like I said, all our cards on the table.”

“Well, if we’re laying all our cards on the table, I’m bisexual, and I find you very attractive, but I respect your relationship with Daniel, and I will be completely professional.”

John looked startled.

“What, you don’t know you’re attractive?” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, defensive.

“No, women often - I mean - in the Air Force, I got really good at being oblivious to men who might be interested in me.” John ducked his head. “Right. All our cards on the table. I appreciate it. Is being around Daniel...weird for you?”

“No, it reminds me that you have a relationship I need to respect.”

“Fair enough. Just - I don’t want to rub it in.”

“Daniel is attractive, intelligent, and very nice.”

John looked discomfited, said nothing till they made it back to the parking garage, and then he bade Rodney good night.

Rodney thanked him for dinner, bade him good night, and headed for his own car. Didn’t look back to watch John’s car vanish, headed for Daniel’s place.

The next day, John looked at him askance a couple of times, but it was the same as the first day, Rodney distracted, John bringing him drinks and snacks, Rodney talking, John listening, John replying with something thoughtful and helpful.

And so the pattern was set. Sometimes Rodney remembered to bring snacks for John, and sometimes John said things that were downright idiotic just to provoke Rodney (into thinking in a new direction, he realized), but they made a good team.

Rodney’s move-in party was a success. Miko brought her famous red bean mochi cakes (which were delicious), and Amita (Dr. Ramanujan) brought candied rose petals. John, Rodney, and Daniel’s boss’s godsons Sam and Dean managed to get all the boxes moved in while Rodney directed Daniel, Amita, and Miko in unpacking them, and in the space of one Saturday, Rodney had a true living space.

He paid for pizza and beer, and the move-in party turned into a housewarming party, everyone settling in to watch a random episode of Star Trek that happened to be on. Everyone - save Dean and Daniel - chimed in with scientific commentary.

And then it was all done, and Rodney was standing in the doorway of his fully-furnished and decorated apartment - no one had laughed at his Star Trek paraphernalia or pictures of his cats - waving goodbye to people he might be able to call friends, and then he went to bed. Alone. And did his best not to think of John, who was going home with Daniel, or maybe Daniel was going home with him, would play the piano for him, probably something sentimental like Debussy or Chopin.

Rodney lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling. Could he really do this? Work alongside John Sheppard and all his beautiful brilliance and know he was utterly untouchable and not go insane?

Hell yes. He was Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD. He could do anything.

He rolled onto his side, clutching his pillow, and took a long time to fall asleep.

Right before he slipped into dreams, he thought that now he was settled into his new place, he ought to swing by the local animal shelter and get a new cat.


End file.
